Theater of War: Act Three, Scene One
by TOW
Summary: ACT THREE – “I Have Played the Fool”: Tension increases as the camp’s population swells, a fire threatens both town and Stalag 13, and the SS threatens the resistance.
1. Chapter 1

Act Three

Scene One

Theater of War: Act Three – "I Have Played the Fool" – The First Book of Samuel – is set in the _Hogan's Heroes_' universe. It was originally published as a digest-sized zine in 1998. This is an amateur publication for the enjoyment of fans. This copyright covers only original material and in no way intends to infringe upon the privileges of the holders of copyrights, trademarks or other legal rights for the _Hogan's Heroes_ universe.

* * *

– One –

Europe 1945 — World War II still raged on. The Battle of the Bulge, that seemingly endless quagmire that had cost the lives of tens of thousands of German and Allied men, finally ended, ended with the Allies victorious. From both fronts, the Allies continued their relentless march toward Germany. Warsaw, Krakow, Lodz and other Polish cities had already been taken by the Russians who continued on to Berlin. Auschwitz, a name not yet known to the world, had already been liberated. Franklin Roosevelt, Winston Churchill and Josef Stalin were preparing for a meeting that would determine the fate of postwar Europe. The feeling among the Allies was that Germany would be defeated sometime in the summer.

In Germany, conditions kept deteriorating. German cities continued to be bombed by the Americans during the day and the British during the night. Thousands of tons of bombs, including incendiaries, rained on helpless civilians, reducing centuries-old cities to rubble. Men, women and children took to the countryside to escape the bombs and the invading armies. And they were not the only ones. As the Allies approached, tens of thousands of concentration camp inmates were sent on forced marches to camps in the interior of Germany. Thousands died. Also on the march were thousands of "Kriegies"(1) or prisoners of war, evacuated from POW camps by the Germans. The evacuees faced not only the harshest winter in years, but also a lack of adequate clothing, food and shelter as they made their way into Germany. They also faced the constant danger of bombing raids by the Allies if they were transported by rail, and strafing runs by fighters if they used the roads. Throughout war-torn Europe, it seemed as if the death and destruction would never end.

But, in time, they would, bringing peace, bringing changes, good and bad.

Changes.

Colonel Robert Hogan, the senior POW officer of Stalag Luft 13, a small POW camp not far from the town of Hammelburg in northwestern Germany in an area near the Ruhr River Valley, walked across the compound after supper.

He'd been thinking about the events of the past few weeks lately. About the changes in the camp, most of them not particularly pleasant, and about the change in his relationship with the camp kommandant, Colonel Wilhelm Klink.

The biggest change in the camp was the increase in the number of prisoners. There were over nineteen hundred men in a camp originally built to house twelve hundred. And as the camp's population continued to swell, the budget shrank. Food and other necessities were stretched to their limits. In the past, Hogan and Klink had been able to buy food and other supplies from Hammelburg and the surrounding countryside. But as the war disrupted transportation and supply lines, the town of Hammelburg was feeling the pinch as well. Once common items had become luxuries — still available, if one knew the right person and had the right currency. Hogan, thanks to his links with the underground, had the right currency and the right connections. But he chafed at having to pay exorbitant prices for once commonplace items. And he realized bleakly that, in time, those items might no longer be available, regardless of the price or his connections.

The greatest change for Hogan was in his relationship with the camp kommandant, Wilhelm Klink. For years, Hogan had thought of Klink as a pawn, a means of running his escape and sabotage organization. To keep the Gestapo, SS and Luftwaffe from discovering his operation, Hogan had used Klink, unofficially of course, and without Klink's seeming knowledge. As a result, Hogan had had to develop a relationship with Klink that went far beyond the normal camp kommandant-senior POW relationship that existed in other camps. It had become a relationship that pretty much gave Hogan a free rein in the camp and an open door to Klink. And in the course of that relationship, Hogan found himself closer to Klink than he'd ever been to any other person.

And it had frightened Hogan. Outwardly, Hogan was a social being, a natural wit, a charming companion with women, a friendly sort with men. He was a friend to everyone and everyone liked him. But his relationships with others were casual. He'd known what he wanted to do with his life since he was a kid. And that put Hogan on a fast track in school and in his career. Third in his class(2) when he graduated from flight training, he was a squadron leader in his early thirties and frocked to a full colonel at thirty-five when he went to England with the Lend-Lease planes. He seemed to lead a charmed life and even managed to talk himself into the command of an RAF group, the 504th, a few months later. That was when his luck finally ran out. On a routine bombing mission, he found himself in a burning plane and had been forced to bail out over Germany a month before the U.S. and Germany were officially at war. Well, the fast track had been fun while it lasted. But it had left him little time to develop close friendships with other officers. Or little inclination. Who knew when that friend might become a rival for a post Hogan wanted. It was much better to keep things light and friendly. Much better for his ego and his career.

But here in this godforsaken POW camp, Robert Hogan suddenly found himself having to develop a relationship with — of all people! — a German prison kommandant. An unexpectedly close relationship. Hogan had to know Klink as well as he knew himself if his plans were to succeed. But it didn't matter. For Hogan, it was superficial. After all, Klink was the enemy, a uniform, someone he used, someone he needed to use. It didn't matter what happened to Klink. It didn't matter what he did to Klink. Klink was expendable. Just a way to get what Hogan had wanted. It didn't matter if Klink was hurt or if he died. It didn't matter . . .

Until that appalling moment when Hogan realized that it did matter. Very much. Somehow, during those three years, the seemingly naive and foolish camp kommandant had managed to become closer to Hogan than any other human being. And Hogan had run from that realization. More — he had pushed Klink away, physically, emotionally, wishing him ill. Wishing him dead. It had taken Klink's pain and near death for Hogan to finally admit how he felt about Klink.

None too soon. Their newfound relationship helped to temper the increasingly crowded conditions at the camp. And it had done more than that. It had finally helped Hogan realize the truth about the seemingly inept kommandant — that Klink was not the incompetent he appeared to be. On the contrary, Klink had been fighting the Nazis for eleven years as the notorious resistance leader known as the Stage. It was a fight that had nearly ended with Klink's death, and with Hogan's unmasking as well, when circumstances had let their common enemy, Gestapo Major Hochstetter, discover the Stage's identity. Hogan, his men and Sergeant Hans Schultz had rescued Klink, but only after Klink had been tortured for nearly three days. After his rescue, Klink had decided to return to the camp instead of going to England or Switzerland. And Klink had also decided to resume his identity as the incompetent kommandant. Until Hogan convinced the lonely and isolated hero that it was time for the real Wilhelm Klink to live again. And ultimately that was the greatest change of all — the rebirth of the long hidden Wilhelm Klink.

The change was made so slowly that few people, fortunately, noticed. Hogan's eyes took in the soldiers patrolling the grounds. By now, many of the experienced men, the Luftwaffe men, had gone. Their replacement Wehrmacht guards tended to be too old, like 63-year-old Klaus Krieger, or too young, like baby-faced, fresh-off-the-farm 17-year-old Emil Reinwald, or men who had been wounded and could no longer function in combat, like one-armed Oskar Kaufmann. But over the past few weeks, they were becoming more professional than the departing guards had ever been because Klink, without their being aware of it, was making them so.

Hogan grinned. He wasn't sure he liked that change; it made it more difficult to get out of camp. But Klink, via Schultz, kept an eye on them, letting things get lax just when they needed to be lax.

Funny, Klink never asked about any of Hogan's operations. Of course, Klink was far too busy. Within a couple of weeks of Standartenführer Weiss's visit, the Stage exploded on the scene again. Literally. In one night, five major installations across the country had blown up. And there was no doubt about which group had been responsible. The Stage had returned with a vengeance. And Hogan, to his chagrin, had no idea how Klink had arranged it.

There were other changes as well. Changes in the way Klink talked to soldiers and prisoners alike. His conversation with underlings wasn't as condescending as it used to be, nor was it as diffident with his superiors. There was an unexpectedly dry sense of humor surfacing, used to chide erring subordinates. The yelling that had been a part of the old Kommandant was disappearing. Klink's voice was far quieter, yet oddly firmer as well. His walk too was somehow different.

And his chess game was definitely different.

Hogan bounded up the stairs to Klink's quarters and knocked. Another change; Hogan no longer walked into Klink's quarters without waiting for a response.

"Come in," Klink called.

Hogan walked into the living room; the chessboard was already set up on the table.

Klink was at the bookcase, leafing through a book. He glanced at Hogan and smiled. "Give me a moment, Colonel." He gestured toward the chess set. "You can begin."

"I don't know why I bother," Hogan complained as he sat down. "You win almost every game."

Klink smiled. "True. But now, you no longer let me win. It makes the game much more interesting."

"Maybe. But I still lose." Hogan moved a white pawn.

Klink returned the book to the shelf and joined Hogan at the table. He moved a black pawn.

"I was looking around the compound as I walked over," Hogan said as he pondered his next move. "I'm not sure I like all of your changes."

A passing smile. "Interfering with your plans, Colonel Hogan?"

Hogan grinned as he moved another pawn. "Not yet."

"Good. I don't want you getting restless." The knight moved.

The next few moves were made silently.

Finally, Klink said, "You have something on your mind. I do wish you would talk about it. It's interfering with your game."

"Huh?"

"Come now, Robert," Klink said. "I know you still have unanswered questions."

Robert. That was another change. Rarely used and only when they were alone.

"Yeah," Hogan admitted. He looked at Klink squarely. "I didn't think you wanted to talk about it. You ignored me at first. Rather pointedly."

"Well, yes." An embarrassed smile. "I apologize for that. But I was still trying to build up Kommandant Klink; trying to bring to life a character I thought had died in that cell."

"Until I resurrected him," Hogan said a bit pessimistically.

"I went into it with my eyes open, Robert. I didn't need any pushing," Klink said. "The truth is, I might have come back even if you didn't think of it." A smile. "Now, I'm trying to kill the Kommandant off. Only this way, it is much more difficult."

"If you want the truth, I don't think most people know what's going on."

"I hope not. It would raise far too many awkward questions."

Hogan moved a pawn. "Speaking of awkward questions," Klink's eyes lifted to his face, "and you can tell me it's none of my business — "

"I'm already intrigued. Ask your question."

"Weiss said something in your office that day. Something about knowing what they did to you, not for the first time." Hogan watched Klink's face change.

Klink rose without a word and went over to the sideboard. He lifted a tray with a flask of brandy and two glasses on it. He brought tray over to the table. Hogan stayed silent as Klink poured the brandy into the two glasses and handed him one. Klink took a sip of his own drink before sitting down. The silence was becoming uncomfortable when Klink finally broke it.

"The first happened years ago," Klink began quietly, staring at the brandy glass. "Shortly after Dunkirk. I was in France, an airfield outside of Paris. It was fairly quiet but resistance activities were starting. Since I'd had little contact with French groups, I decided to 'scout' them out. I dressed as a laborer with false papers and went out to meet with a group. Unfortunately, I picked the wrong night." He sipped the brandy. "The SS was conducting a sweep to round up the opposition. I was arrested as well."

Hogan glanced at him in surprise.

"My papers served me well. I was supposed to be an Austrian laborer and that is what they believed. I played, I believe the expression is, dumb. Actually, it wasn't too difficult; I really had no idea what was going on."

"But they didn't buy that?"

Klink shook his head. "No, they didn't. At first, they were too busy to bother with me. I was thrown into a cold, dark cell and left alone for a couple of hours before they came for me. They asked their questions, questions I really couldn't answer. They didn't like the responses so I was beaten. They left me semi-conscious on the floor while they decided what to do with me." His eyes grew haunted. "I could hear screams from some of the other cells and started to wonder if I would be next. I had never been so frightened in my life."

"I'd be scared too," Hogan admitted. "More than scared."

"I was more than scared. I'm afraid I dirtied myself as I lay there." A sigh. "I was not too proud of myself then."

"You had nothing to be ashamed of," Hogan told him quietly.

"I know that. Now." Klink shook his head. "But back then, I was still rather naive." A faint smile. "And I didn't even have the excuse of youth to fall back on." He took another drink.

"What happened next?" Hogan prompted soberly.

"They had examined my papers and decided they were false. That made them more interested in me. I was taken to another room. There was a generator with cables running from it to a table." Klink's brow was now wet. "They tied me to the table and — "

"Don't," Hogan interrupted.

Klink drained his drink; Hogan refilled his glass.

"That was my first taste of real pain," Klink continued. "Up until then, I had led a fairly charmed life, managing not to get really hurt. I don't know how long it went on. They couldn't control the level and my tolerance for pain was not as high as it is now, so I kept losing consciousness. Somehow, I hung on, not giving them the answers they were looking for.

"After a while, they lost interest in me and left me there. Feeling rather sorry for myself, I might add. And very, very angry. I had drifted off to sleep when, unexpectedly, I heard shots in the hallway. The SS had miscalculated. There was a well-organized counter-raid by the resistance. A man burst into the room with a machine gun. He freed me and handed me a gun.

"I don't really remember much of the rest of the night. It is a blur of gunshots and grenades, people crying out as they were hit, blood and fires." Klink shook his head. "The next thing I remember clearly was running through the woods before I collapsed. I had a bullet in my shoulder; to this day, I don't remember being shot. An elderly farm couple found me, removed the bullet and tended me until morning. Then, over their objections, I left.

"The Stage was really born that night, Robert. When I returned to my unit — officially, I had been on leave — I had go on as if nothing had happened. I learned to live with that kind of pain. I had something to compare it with. Something infinitely worse. But it wasn't easy."

"And you told Weiss?"

Klink nodded. "He was my commanding officer."

Hogan looked surprised.

"He wasn't with the SS then," Klink explained. "He joined the following year. We decided we needed someone there we could trust and he volunteered. But one of the last things he did was transfer me back to Germany. And I have been here ever since." Klink glanced at Hogan. "There were a few other times when I have been caught. Fortunately for me, they never realized who I was. Occasionally, I was beaten. Occasionally . . . But I always managed to escape or be rescued within a few hours. Hochstetter, he had the distinction of holding me the longest. Without your intervention, it would have been permanent."

"As I said in the cave, Wilhelm — " That name was even more rarely used. "You and me. To the end."

Klink smiled. "Any more questions?"

Hogan grinned. "I'll think of something. But for now, checkmate."

Klink looked at the board in surprise. "Very sneaky, Colonel. You made me lose my concentration."

"I had to do something," Hogan said with a grin. "I was getting tired of losing."

"Another game?" Klink asked.

"I should rest on my laurels, but — "

The sound of a low-flying airplane interrupted him. Klink stood and walked over to the door. Hogan followed him onto the porch.

"RAF," Hogan said, "from the sound of it."

Klink nodded and turned to go back into the building.

Off in the distance, a blinding light blossomed. Then seconds later, a huge explosion rocked the ground.

"Hammelburg?" Hogan asked.

Klink nodded.

"But there's nothing there of any importance now."

"An accident," Klink said. "Or perhaps they had to lighten their load."

Sergeant Hans Schultz ran up to them, puffing slightly. "Herr Kommandant!"

"Yes, Schultz," Klink said, "we saw."

Klink went back into his quarters and walked over to the telephone. He put in a call to the nearby town. Hogan noticed he had trouble trying to get an answer to his questions.

Klink gave up in disgust. "Schultz!"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!"

"Get my car. I'm going to town to find out what's going on," Klink said. "You follow with another car and two men. Watch for anyone who might have parachuted out."

"Wait a minute," Hogan began and shut up as Captain Fritz Gruber(3), Klink's second-in-command, came in.

"Hauptmann Gruber," Klink was saying, "I'm going to Hammelburg to see what happened. Sergeant Schultz will follow and pick up any Allied pilots who may have landed. You are in charge."

Gruber saluted smartly. "Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."

Klink went out on the porch, carrying his topcoat. "Forgive me, Colonel Hogan. Our chess game will have to wait."

Hogan smiled grimly.

Klink glanced up and stopped putting on his topcoat. "Lights!" He ordered loudly. "Sweep the skies!"

Instantly, every searchlight in the camp turned upward.

Hogan followed Klink's gaze and swore beneath his breath. A parachutist was heading straight for the camp, his figure frozen in the searchlights.

"Sound the alarm! Search for others!" Klink ordered. "Patrols, outside the camp! All prisoners confined to the barracks!"

No, Hogan thought, there were definitely some changes he didn't like. The old Klink would have gotten the same idea, but not so quickly, leaving them time to get the jumping men into the tunnel.

The guards reacted well to the flow of orders. Another change, Hogan thought with annoyance. They were actually beginning to operate efficiently. A few months, a few weeks ago, the same orders would have produced utter chaos. Now, one searchlight stayed on the parachutist, the rest swept the camp and the outside woods. Two patrols had been dispatched outside the wire and the prisoners were actually staying in the barracks.

The parachutist had almost landed. Hogan could see the shock and dismay on his face as he realized where he was heading.

"Herr Kommandant!" Schultz shouted and pointed skyward.

Another parachutist was heading for the lit camp. A searchlight picked him up and stayed on him as the first man landed in the middle of the camp. Instantly, guards, their rifles aimed at him, surrounded the landing man. He undid the straps of his parachute and, ringed by the soldiers, walked over to the men waiting on the porch.

The other man was blown slightly away. Hogan realized with alarm that the parachutist was heading for the electrified inner fence surrounding the camp.

So did Klink. "Cut the fence current!" he ordered.

The sweeping lights picked up one more figure. This one slightly to the west of the camp.

"A blasted party," Hogan murmured with disgust. The Germans would pick up the third man as well.

"Sorry, Colonel," Klink said in a voice only Hogan could hear. "I'm afraid these three are mine."

The second man yelled loudly as he headed straight for the fence. His parachute snagged on the barbed wire on the top of the fence. Luckily for him, he hit it none too hard and with his back. The metal caught on his jacket but did no damage. The parachute hung him up, some six feet above the ground. The guards were there, waiting for him. The third man landed on the road right outside the camp. The guards instantly surrounded him.

"Very neat, Kommandant," Hogan murmured.

A thin smile. "I try."

The first man had reached them; he saluted sharply. "Captain John Witton," he said in an American accent despite the British uniform.

Klink saluted absently, watching the progress of the other two men. He left the introductions to Hogan.

"Colonel Robert Hogan, senior POW officer," Hogan said. "This is Colonel Wilhelm Klink, Kommandant of Stalag Luft 13, the toughest POW camp in Germany."

Hogan caught the amused glint in Klink's eye as he turned toward them.

"Captain, that was quite an entrance," Klink said.

"Yes, sir." The pilot was clearly disgusted with himself.

Another explosion in the distance shattered the quiet of the night.

"That's my plane," Witton muttered. "I hope everyone got out."

"If they did," Klink said, "we will pick them up."

The other two men joined them; both saluted smartly.

"Lieutenant Michael Scott." A broad Scots accent.

"Sergeant Willy Baines." A cockney edge to the voice.

Another absent salute from Klink. "Hauptmann Gruber, for tonight take them to the cooler. Give them whatever they need to make them comfortable. If he wishes, Colonel Hogan can talk to them."

Gruber saluted. "Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."

"I still have a trip to town to make." Klink slipped on his coat. "Schultz!"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!" Schultz hurried to get Klink's car.

Around them, the camp settled down to normal. The guards slowed down to their normal pace; the three men were being herded toward the cooler. However, the lights still searched the woods outside the camp.

Klink noticed Hogan's expression as the American watched the lights. "Hauptmann Gruber."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant?"

"The excitement seems to have died down. If there are any men outside the camp, we should find them with the car. The lights can resume their regular pattern," Klink said nonchalantly.

Gruber accepted the statement without a murmur and passed the order on to the men. Hogan hid his smile.

Schultz brought Klink's staff car over.

Hogan held the door open for Klink and, with a grin, shut it. He continued to grin as he walked back to his barracks.

"What rotten luck!" Corporal Louis LeBeau, a diminutive Frenchman, said to Hogan as he entered the barracks.

Hogan smiled. "Not completely. Klink's cut the outside lights. We might still pick up the others. You and Baker, through the tunnel. See what you can find."

"Right, Colonel," Sergeant Richard Baker, a tall black man, said.

Hogan poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Where's Klink going?" asked Sergeant James Kinchloe, a mustached black man.

"Hammelburg," Hogan said. He glanced at the eastern sky visible through the barracks' still unshuttered window. "Looks like there's a fire that way."

* * *

1 The German word for POW was Kriegsgefangenen, which was shortened to Kriegies by the POWs. David A. Foy: _For You the War is Over_

2 "Hogan's Double Life"

3 "Don't Forget to Write"


	2. Chapter 2

Act Three

Scene One

– Two –

Hogan came out of the barracks for roll call the next morning and wrinkled his nose. A burning smell hung heavily in the air and brown clouds in the eastern sky obscured the pale sun.

Corporal Peter Newkirk was surprised. "Still burning?" he asked in an English accent.

Hogan nodded. "And Klink's not back yet," he murmured as Gruber presided over the roll call.

"Must be one hell of a fire," Kinch observed.

"Yeah," Hogan agreed. "That could give us some problems."

"Why, Colonel?" Sergeant Andrew Carter, a young American, asked.

"Simple. We rely a lot on the underground in Hammelburg. That fire might affect them as well."

"We might have company for a while," Newkirk said.

"That won't make them happy," LeBeau said.

"At least they're gonna get out of here," Baker said. "Those three in the cooler are stuck here for the duration."

"Uh, oh," Hogan said. "Looks like Gruber wants to talk to them. See you later." He headed for the Kommandant's office.

Gruber got little out of the new prisoners besides name, rank and serial number. He soon gave up and assigned the three men to a barracks.

Hogan accompanied them there, giving them a quick introduction to the real workings of the camp. They were surprised, and none too pleased, to learn that they would have to remain with no chance of an escape. But they acquiesced once they discovered that they really had no choice. Besides, as Scott observed, the war won't last much longer. He hoped.

Hogan talked to Witton a bit longer. Witton was surprised and happy to find out that six more of his crew were hiding in the tunnels beneath the camp. The question he had was, where was the remaining crewmember?

Hogan couldn't help him.

...

Klink came back shortly before nine. The sky was growing ominously darker and the wind had picked up from the east. Schultz hurried over to the barracks as Klink went into his quarters.

"Colonel Hogan," Schultz said breathlessly as he entered the barracks. "The Kommandant would like to see you in his quarters."

Hogan drained the last of his coffee and stood. "How's the fire, Schultz?" Hogan asked as he went into his room for his jacket.

"Terrible," Schultz said dismally. "Very terrible."

"And the Kommandant?" Hogan asked as they walked across the compound.

Schultz shrugged and stayed silent.

...

Klink, in his shirtsleeves, was drying his face with a towel when Hogan came into the room. Hogan was surprised at his appearance; Klink's clothes were stained with dirt and smoke. Klink dropped the towel on the sofa back and poured himself a brandy. He looked tired.

"Did you get any sleep?" Hogan asked him.

Klink shook his head. "I've asked Captain Gruber to be here as well."

Hogan was annoyed. "Why?"

"I have an unusual request to make, and I would like to make it official."

None too pleased, Hogan waited.

Captain Witton came in with Gruber. "Sir," Witton said, "I came to see if you have any news on the rest of my crew."

Klink stared at his drink before lifting his eyes to Witton's face. His voice was almost gentle as he said, "I can only tell you about one man."

Hogan felt a chill as he looked at Klink.

"I don't know his name, but one man is dead."

Witton stiffened.

"The fire created a very strong draft," Klink continued.

Hogan shuddered as he realized what was coming.

"I am sorry, Captain, but the townspeople said a man with a parachute was pulled into the flames."

Witton looked sick. "Oh God!"

Klink nodded toward the brandy and turned away. Hogan poured the shaken captain a drink; Witton took it blindly and gulped it down.

Hogan walked over to Klink. "How's the fire?"

Klink rubbed his eyes with a hand. "At least ten people are dead so far; forty are missing, probably dead as well. Another hundred or so are injured, some badly. The eastern end of Hammelburg is gone; that's where the plane crashed. The wind is picking up and there are fears that the fire will spread further, much further." Klink turned to Hogan. "That is what I want to talk to you about."

"I'm listening," Hogan said.

Klink went over to the dining table. He pointed to the map on it. "This is the section that is currently burning," he said as Hogan walked over. "The fire is moving this way. The plane obviously contained incendiary bombs. The bombs plus the fuel in the plane have made the fire extremely hot; it is feeding on itself and everything in its path. As you know, a good deal of Hammelburg is constructed of wood. The fire is jumping from one street to another without a break. They have been able to contain just the edges, but they have not been able to stop it."

Hogan looked at the map. "It's heading this way?" He indicated on the map.

Klink nodded. "Yes. If it reaches the woods, it will be impossible to stop. Not even the river will stop it. It will simply burn the bridges and keep going through the woods."

"We're in those woods," Hogan said slowly.

"Yes, Colonel Hogan," Klink said quietly. "We are. That is what I want to talk to you about."

"Go on," Hogan said.

"There are two points." Klink turned to a listening Gruber. "Hauptmann, all guards not currently on duty and not sleeping are to be assembled and sent to fight the fire. That will give them another forty or fifty more men." He faced Hogan. "I want your word that there will be no attempted escapes."

Hogan knew the question was a formality for the listening Gruber and Witton. He glanced at the map. Even if it weren't, where could anyone go? "You have my word."

A thin smile. "The second request is more unusual," Klink continued. "If the fire reaches the woods, I will have to begin evacuating the camp."

Hogan glanced at him sharply.

Klink's eyes met his. "I think we both have a vested interest in keeping the camp going. I am therefore asking for volunteers from the prisoners to fight the fire. I am also asking for your word, their word, that there will be no escapes."

"You're nuts!" Witton interrupted. "Colonel, you can't take him seriously."

"On the contrary, Captain," Klink's eyes stayed on Hogan, "I am deadly serious."

"If no one volunteers?" Hogan asked.

"That is their choice," Klink said. "I hope you, and they, can accept the consequences. Once the fire reaches those woods, Colonel Hogan, I will begin evacuating the camp. And I want you to draw up an evacuation plan."

"Me?"

Klink smiled briefly. "Yes. Our normal evacuation procedures will not do in this case. I would prefer to keep the stronger men here and evacuate the weaker ones first. I will leave the order up to you. Subject to approval, of course."

"Of course," Hogan echoed ironically. "Evacuate them where?"

Klink went over to the table to get another drink. "Other stalags, Luftwaffe camps, if possible." He faced Hogan. "You know that will mean the end of Stalag 13."

Hogan nodded soberly, worriedly.

Klink drained the brandy in one gulp. "You can use the assembly hall to inform the camp of what is happening. I would appreciate an answer from you in," a glance at his watch, "two hours. I will be going back to Hammelburg then. Hauptmann Gruber, send a truck of men to Hammelburg now. The rest can accompany me later."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant." Gruber saluted and left.

"Colonel Hogan," Klink said soberly, "if you are worried about any possible consequences in helping the enemy, this will be treated as any other work detail. I will accept full responsibility in any possible disciplinary proceedings that may develop as a result of this. But regardless of your, their, decision, I would like you to have your men prepare for the possible evacuation of the camp." He rubbed his eyes with his fingers. "Forgive me, but I must get some sleep. I doubt if there will be a chance again later on." And he looked at Hogan. "Two hours, Colonel Hogan. One way or another."

"Yes, sir," Hogan said grimly and saluted. Witton, next to him, did the same.

Wearily, Klink pulled off his tie as the Americans left.

Schultz, forgotten in a corner, asked, "What do you think, Herr Kommandant?"

"Hogan knows what will happen if we have to evacuate," Klink answered. "The question is, can he convince the others to help? We will need a great deal of help to stop this fire. A great deal." A sigh. "And even then, I don't know."

...

"Bloody bastard," Witton murmured next to Hogan.

Hogan glanced at him. "I don't think you've been here long enough to say that," Hogan said.

"They're all bloody bastards!" Witton said. "Every stinking last one of them. I hope they all burn up!" He strode away from Hogan.

Hogan stared after him. What was eating Witton?

The others hurried up to him.

"What's up, mon colonel?" LeBeau asked.

"Spread the word," Hogan said. "I want all the officers, noncoms and barracks' leaders in the assembly hall in thirty minutes. Everyone! Baker, we need to contact London."

"Right, Colonel."

As the others dispersed, Baker and Hogan went back to their barracks.

Down in the tunnel, Baker called London. Hogan quickly apprised them of the conditions at the camp. As he expected, London left the decision up to him. London knew that if the camp were to be evacuated, their entire operation would be shut down. Hogan also passed on the news about the dead crewmember, asking them to notify his unit.

The six men hiding in the tunnels were aghast at the news.

"It'll hit the Captain badly," Murray murmured as Hogan signed off.

"Yeah," confirmed Douglas. "He and Lieutenant Richey were real close."

"Your Captain doesn't seem to like Germans much," observed Hogan.

Murray snorted. "He hates them. Always has, always will."

"Why?" Baker asked curiously.

"Not really sure," said Douglas. "'Course the fact that his father was killed in the Great War may have something to do with it."

"He couldn't have known his father," Baker said.

"Naw, he was only a baby. But that's why he joined the RAF," Murray said. "To take care of the Germans."

"What's wrong, Colonel?" Baker asked softly as the others walked back to their cots.

"I'm not sure," Hogan admitted. "It's just the way he was talking."

"It could be just that," Baker said.

"I hope so," Hogan said. "The last thing we need right now is some hothead causing trouble. Let's go. We've got a meeting to go to."

Though he had half expected it, Hogan was still a bit surprised that there were no guards at the meeting. After posting lookouts at the doors and windows to warn of intruders, Hogan walked to the front of the hall; all of the men he'd requested were there.

Hogan's eyes swept the hall as he waited for them to quiet down. There were over nineteen hundred men in camp now. These men, some one hundred or so of them, had to report to them; these were the men he had to convince first. What would they think of what he had to say?

Hogan began. "I think you know there's a bad fire in Hammelburg. It started last night when Captain Witton's," he nodded toward the pilot, "plane went down.

"According to Klink — " A few scattered boos. "According to Klink, the eastern end, the newer end, of Hammelburg has been destroyed and the fire's still not contained. The way it's going, there's a good chance that it will reach the woods east of here."

He had their attention now. He took a deep breath. "If that happens, Klink will evacuate the camp."

Hogan let the expected uproar continue for a few moments. Then his group called for quiet; it came reluctantly.

"I think you all know what this camp is about. And why there have been no successful escapes."

There were grins and some laughs.

"If I didn't thank you before, I want to do it now. All of you have contributed to the success of the operation. I know it hasn't been easy. Some of you have been here three, four years. It's a long time to be away from your families and friends. And let's face it, Stalag 13 is no Ritz.

"If the camp is evacuated, our operation will be shut down. And most of us, if not all of us, will be dispersed to other camps. And we won't be coming back."

"What about a mass escape, Colonel?" someone near the back asked.

"I'll admit I've considered it," Hogan said. "But there are a number of serious problems.

"First, it's winter. Few of us are equipped for a long trek anywhere in this kind of weather. Nor do we have many papers, civilian clothing or the other things we normally supply escaping prisoners.

"Second, that fire. We rely a lot on nearby resistance groups for help. We've tried reaching them. Most of them, we can't contact. The rest are saying flat out they can't help. That fire is threatening them as well. Also, Hammelburg is normally the first stop for any escape. The fire has ended that option. The next town is twenty kilometers further away. As I said, it's winter.

"Third, again, that fire. We'd have to go around it. Klink might be calling in help from the outside. He'd have to, to evacuate the camp. So the entire area will be crawling with people."

"So what's left, Colonel?" came the question from Captain John Mitchell1.

Hogan took a deep breath. "Klink has asked for our help in fighting the fire."

"What!"

"He can ask all he wants!"

The uproar was even louder than the first.

Finally, the noise died down.

"The way I see it," Hogan said quietly, "if we want to keep Stalag 13 going, we should help."

"Help Klink?" someone spat.

"No!" Hogan shouted over the impending roar. "Help ourselves! I'm not going to gloss over how things are here. But given what's going on in some of the other camps, it could be worse! A lot worse!

"The Allies aren't that far away now. It's only a matter of months, perhaps even weeks, before they get here. Given a choice, I'd rather spend the time here than in some other camp."

"But to help Klink," murmured someone.

Hogan sighed inwardly. Klink had played his part too well; he was still disliked by most of the camp.

"Think of it as helping yourselves," Hogan said. "Do you really want to move to another camp?"

There were general murmurs of "no" from the men.

"Look," Hogan said, "I'm not ordering anybody to help. I won't kid you. Fighting a fire this size is no picnic and could be dangerous. London's been informed of the situation. They've left the decision up to us. There will be no repercussions later on for those who help. I'm just asking you to think about it. My group and I will be helping fight the fire. But we can't do it ourselves. We'll need help. If it's any bonus, if there's an evacuation, those fighting the fire will be the last to go. If it's put out, they may not have to go."

"If it comes to an evacuation, Colonel," Captain Edward Martin2 asked, "what about escapes?"

"If it comes to an evacuation," Hogan answered, "the no escape orders are canceled. But remember, you won't have any help. And that you stand an excellent chance of being picked up or shot by any troops you encounter."

"Understood, Colonel," Martin said.

"Again, I'm asking for volunteers. Particularly anyone who's had any experience fighting fires in the past. Just think about it." He glanced at his watch. "You've got about forty minutes to decide. That's all."

Hogan left the hall, the buzz of conversation loud in his ears.

Forty-five minutes later, Klink came out on the porch and impassively watched some two-dozen guards get into a truck.

Hogan walked over to him.

"How many?" Klink asked.

"A couple of dozen," Hogan said. "Most are waiting to see what develops."

Klink nodded. "I can't really blame them." He gestured toward his staff car. "Join me?"

Hogan nodded, glancing at the driver. It wasn't Schultz.

A faint smile. "I didn't have the heart to wake him. He's been up all night."

"You were too," Hogan said.

"I'm used to it," Klink said as he entered the car.

_Yeah_, Hogan thought, _but I wanted to talk._ The presence of the driver made that impossible. With a sigh, Hogan got into the car.

* * *

1 "The Big Gamble"

2 "The Gold Rush"


	3. Chapter 3

Act Three

Scene One

– Three –

The staff car moved slowly through the mass of people. Though he had expected confusion, the scene was worse than Hogan had anticipated. The fire had gone on for so long that people were beginning to panic. The Town Council, the Bürgermeister and the inexperienced fire chief had lost control of the situation. There appeared to be no one in charge.

Until Klink took over. He took one look at the panic, noise, chaos and the completely haphazard way the fire was being fought, and intervened. It wasn't hard to do. As the senior military officer in the area, Klink could take charge. And he did.

Hogan had watched with admiration. He was aware of the Stage's reputation for efficiency, for coordinating all of the details of an operation with seeming ease. He also knew of the Stage's uncanny ability to read people, to use them wherever they were most useful, and to get them to help him, sometimes without them even realizing it. Within hours, the panic was controlled, evacuation of the endangered parts of town was proceeding in an orderly manner, and the firefighters were organized into as efficient a force as possible.

But was it enough?

Hogan wiped his forehead with a dirty sleeve and walked over to where a pretty teenage girl with a worried look on her face was handing out dippers of water to the firefighters. Hogan gave her a beaming smile that she slowly returned as she handed the dipper to him.

Klink walked over to them. Hogan was secretly amused at the way reluctant admiration crossed the girl's face as Klink joined them. Klink, with his tall form, missing tie and open shirt, was looking unexpectedly gallant, even heroic.

Klink, however, was oblivious to the girl. "Colonel Hogan, may I talk to you?"

"Of course, Kommandant."

The two men walked apart from the others.

"You've done wonders," Hogan said quietly.

"Not enough." Klink said with frustration. "The fire keeps spreading no matter what we do."

"I'll get you more men," Hogan promised.

"We'll need them," Klink said grimly. "But," his eyes met Hogan's, "Robert, I cannot promise I won't evacuate."

"I know. I don't expect you to." A tiny smile. "But if we evacuate, I hope you don't expect a promise of no escapes."

Klink managed a return smile. "No, I never have. You came up with that on your own."

"Well, yeah. But it worked out pretty well. For both of us. Even if only one of us knew about it for a while," he added.

A quick smile from Klink.

"Get me a ride back to camp?"

"Use my car," Klink said. "I'm not going anywhere." He strode back to the tent he was using as a headquarters.

An hour later, Hogan, with a couple of trucks of prisoners, was back at the fire. To his surprise, Captain Witton went with him.

"I've spent summers with the Forestry Service doing some firefighting," Witton explained. "I can be of some help."

"You can," Hogan said. "But I didn't think you wanted to help."

Witton shrugged. "As you said, any place they send me would probably worse."

Hogan accepted his offer, along with that of Witton's remaining crew. Scott and Baines rode in a truck with another couple of dozen prisoners. Witton rode with Hogan in the staff car; Schultz drove them back. As soon as the men were dropped off, the trucks would return to camp for another load of prisoners.

Hogan was pleased. A couple of hundred prisoners were already fighting the fire, and more continued to volunteer, although reluctantly. But no one was too pleased at the alternative if the fire spread.

Hogan was surprised when they reached the outskirts of the fire. It had spread further than he'd expected. The wind had picked up quite a bit and the flames looked hotter and higher than ever.

Klink was everywhere, cajoling, encouraging, ordering as needed. Hogan wasn't surprised to see respect, even admiration, on many faces now. Klink had been as disliked in the town as he had been at the camp. Now he was showing a side that no one had expected. Hogan had to admit he was a bit worried about possible future repercussions. But he also had to admit that Klink didn't really have a choice. If things had continued as they had, the town would have had no chance at all, and neither would the camp.

Hogan was also concerned about Klink personally. He was continually on the front line of the fire, a couple of times coming close to being trapped by the blaze or a toppling building. But his presence was encouraging others to fight harder.

It was dark when a weary Hogan went back to the headquarters area. Klink had just moved it to the western edge of town. The cold here was welcome after the incredible heat of the fire.

Hogan wiped his sooty face with a handkerchief and glanced back at the fire. Even at this distance, it lit up the sky. Would it never end? It was as if none of their efforts made any difference.

He took a couple of cups of ersatz coffee from an elderly woman and walked over to Klink. Klink was studying a map as Bürgermeister Rudolf Scheinfeld, almost in tears, watched.

Hogan handed Klink a cup. Klink took it absently and sipped the coffee, his eyes on the map.

Hogan looked at the map and shuddered. The damage was even worse than he'd thought. The fire had started in the newer industrial area of eastern Hammelburg. Thanks to bombing raids and resistance activities, the once busy area had been largely abandoned. The fire had swept through the derelict buildings at an astonishing speed and turned on the residential areas adjacent to it. That area was also new, built to accommodate the workers who had been employed in those plants. But as the industries disappeared, so did the workers. Many of the buildings, built of cheap wood, had housed transients or refugees from other bombed-out areas. But as the fire spread, those occupants had fled, leaving the buildings to their fate.

But the fire didn't stop there. It continued on to the long established portions of town. And, just as ruthlessly as it had gutted the abandoned buildings, it destroyed homes, businesses, buildings, which had been around for decades, even centuries. Churches, schools, the hospital, medical offices, the town's center with the centuries-old Rathaus and other municipal buildings had been consumed by the flames. Only the heroic efforts of the volunteers had saved most of the town's records from the fire. Saved so that the town could rebuild again.

Or could it? The fire seemed unstoppable. It was likely that by dawn there would be nothing left of Hammelburg. And after Hammelburg, Stalag 13.

Klink straightened and faced the Bürgermeister. "There is but one chance."

The Bürgermeister started nervously.

Klink's finger jabbed at the map as Witton and his two crewmen came up. "This part of town, here, has a concentration of brick buildings. If the buildings were destroyed, it might stop the fire."

"A firebreak," Witton said.

Klink glanced at him. "Yes."

"But," the Bürgermeister said nervously, "to destroy all — "

"If we don't," Klink said, "the fire will destroy it for us. That and the rest of the town. And then spread into the woods. Do you want that?"

Scheinfeld shook his head. "Nein, Herr Kommandant." A nervous twitter. "Do what you must."

"But to destroy all that," Witton said, "you're going to need explosives. Quite a bit."

"Yes," Klink said. "They have already been requisitioned. The truck will be here within a couple of hours."

"Requisitioned?" Hogan asked with a smile. "Or confiscated?"

"Colonel Hogan, you wound me." A small smile. "The garrison was very happy to supply the explosives. Once I made the situation clear."

Hogan grinned widely. "I assume you also made clear what would happen to them if they refused."

"No, I merely hinted." A smile. "They had no difficulty understanding the problem." He walked over to greet Captain Gruber who had arrived with a new load of guards and prisoners.

Hogan turned to Witton. "What do you think?"

"It could work," Witton admitted. "The charges will have to be placed carefully."

"Do you know how?" Klink asked as he returned with Gruber.

Witton was surprised. "Are you asking us to place the explosives?"

"I'm asking everyone who knows about explosives to help," Klink said. "Colonel Hogan, some of his men, some of mine. It will take a lot of time and work to place them. And it needs to be done before the fire reaches those buildings."

"All right," Witton said slowly. "I'll help. I think Baines knows quite a bit about explosives as well."

"Yes, sir, I do," Baines said promptly.

Klink nodded. "Good. We'll go check out the buildings now. Schultz!" he called.

Schultz appeared from the tent. "Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!"

"Find sergeants Carter, Baker and Kinchloe and corporals Newkirk and LeBeau, please."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant." Schultz saluted and left.

Hogan drew Klink off to the side. "Don't trust Witton," he said softly.

Klink looked at him curiously. "Why?"

"Just don't," Hogan repeated cryptically and walked away.

A short time later, Klink, Hogan, Witton, Baines, Captain Gruber, a lieutenant named Grünwald, Newkirk, Kinch, LeBeau, Baker and Carter and some soldiers from the nearby, evacuating garrison were riding to the area Klink had described. It was a core of solid brick and stone buildings. At the rate the fire was spreading, it would reach this part of town at about two in the morning. Hogan glanced at his watch. That didn't give them too much time. They had about twenty buildings to go through.

The truck stopped in front of the largest brick building. These buildings had already been evacuated. But just beyond the buildings was a large square. On the far side of the square was a large hotel, a popular restaurant called the Ratskeller, several small shops and apartment buildings. The owners and occupants of those buildings were still evacuating the area.

"Kommandant," Hogan asked as they walked toward the buildings. "I meant to ask earlier, but where's the SS? Their men could be useful."

A humorless smile. "They decided discretion was the better part of valor and left soon after it was apparent they were in danger."

"Figures. Must have been a mess trying to get out of here with their prisoners," Hogan observed.

"Who said anything about prisoners," Klink said soberly.

Hogan looked startled.

"I understand the prisoners were shot before they left. Attempting to escape is the official story," Klink added as Hogan stopped walking. Klink continued, trailed by the Germans.

"And these are the wonderful people we're helping," Witton said bitterly to Hogan.

Hogan looked at him sharply. "Nobody forced you to help."

"No? And what's my option? Shot during the evacuation?"

"Klink would never," Hogan began angrily.

"No? He's a bloody kraut, just like all of them. Just as soon shoot you in the back as not."

Hogan and his men stared after Witton and Baines.

"What's got him so riled up?" asked Carter.

"I don't know," admitted Hogan. "But keep an eye on him, will you? A hothead like that can blow our entire operation."

The men nodded and headed toward the buildings where Klink waited for them.

God, it was hot. Not so much from the fire as from the cramped location he was in and, Hogan had to admit, the state of his nerves.

For hours, they had poked about the buildings, looking for the best spots to plant the explosives and, since the truck arrived, actually planting them as well. But it looked like they were doing it. Most of the charges had been set.

There. One more done.

Hogan climbed out of the hole he was in and straightened tiredly.

_Ouch_. Hogan rubbed the crick in his neck and walked to the front of the building, a spool of wire unwinding behind him as he walked. One of the Germans took the wire from him and began splicing it into the master line.

Hogan walked out of the building. The area had come to life as the fire approached. People were soaking the few wooden buildings in the area with water, knocking down a few of the smaller structures and removing the wood. But stopping the fire still hinged on blowing up the buildings. Hopefully, the blast would have the secondary effect of smothering part of the fire.

Hogan walked over to the other side of the square where a table with food on it had been set up. Berta Haganspfeffer, the beautiful young widow who had bought the Ratskeller1 last year, handed him a sausage sandwich and a cup of coffee.

Hogan walked over to where Newkirk and LeBeau sat tiredly. They looked a mess. Come to think of it, so did he. They made room for him to sit down. Hogan ate his sandwich silently. Finally, he sat back, sipping his coffee.

He watched as Witton, trailed by Kinch, picked up a sandwich. Getting one as well, Kinch joined them.

"Anything?" Hogan asked Kinch as Witton sat a little away from them with his men.

Kinch shook his head. "Quiet as a lamb."

Hogan grimaced. Perhaps he was suspicious for no good reason. Witton had been of enormous help. His knowledge of fires had proved very useful. Klink had deferred to his suggestions more often than not. Something that clearly surprised Witton.

Hogan put his cup on the ground and rubbed his eyes. God, he was tired. And he'd only been at this since this morning. Many of the townspeople had been fighting the fire since last night. As had Klink.

Hogan watched as Klink came back to the area, trailed by Gruber. Klink had gotten barely two hours of sleep in the past thirty-six, and it promised to be a long night. Klink had been more solicitous of others than he was of himself, insisting that those fighting the fire take the time to rest and, if possible, sleep. Hogan had once suggested that Klink do the same and had been silently rebuffed.

Hogan sighed. The Stage part of Klink's personality had taken over; it was what kept him going. It was also winning him admirers. People who had formerly slighted Klink, even insulted him, were now deferring to him in a way Hogan would never have thought possible.

Another sigh. If the town survived, things were never going to be the same around here again. Hogan could only hope that those same people would have the sense to protect Klink if his behavior prompted too many questions from Berlin.

1 "The Big Broadcast"


	4. Chapter 4

Act Three

Scene One

– Four –

It was finished. Hogan waited beside Klink as the last group of men returned from the buildings.

Klink's eyes were on the approaching fire. If they were lucky, they had maybe a couple of hours before it reached this location. Except for a privileged few and the firefighters, everyone had left the area, retreating to the woods.

Hogan wiped his brow. Already, he could feel the heat from the blaze.

The death toll from the fire was over forty with another hundred missing and presumed dead. Some of the victims had been fighting the fire. Already, sixty percent of the town had been destroyed, and the entire town had now been evacuated. If the firebreak failed, Hammelburg would be almost completely destroyed before the fire turned on the woods. Then it would sweep unimpeded toward the camp. The weather forecast called for snow sometime after dawn, but it would be too late to halt the destruction already in progress. Too late to save Stalag 13.

Several hundred men from the camp had volunteered to fight the fire. As of yet, there had been no escapes, though Hogan wouldn't have wanted to bet there would be none if the camp were evacuated. There had been some injuries among the prisoners, but only one was considered serious. Now, most of the camp's volunteers had been returned to Stalag 13 to get ready for the evacuation.

At a word, Klink and the others who had placed the charges returned to the empty buildings for a final check. As soon as they were finished, they were to return to headquarters. Klink wanted no one, including the firefighters, near the buildings when they blew. And the fire was already far too close for comfort.

One by one, the men checked their assigned buildings and returned to the group waiting on the edge of the woods. Soon, there were only a few of them still checking.

Hogan ran into Klink as the latter checked and rechecked the connections.

"Colonel Hogan," Klink requested, "I would like you to recheck the connections on the south end once more. I don't want to take any chances."

"Of course, Kommandant." Hogan turned away.

"Robert."

Hogan glanced back at Klink in surprise.

"There might not be time later on. If this fails, you and your men will return to camp."

"And you?"

"I'll go back later. But Captain Dingel(1) has orders to begin the evacuation at dawn. You will need to talk to your officers and men. To get ready."

Hogan looked far too soberly at Klink, wanting desperately to think of something else they could do. But there wasn't anything left to try. All he could do was nod his agreement.

Klink continued, "Dingel will hand out the remaining Red Cross packages, blankets and clothing. Your officers and noncoms can distribute them. Then the men will march to a railway siding some ten kilometers from camp. A train will be waiting there."

"Where will they go?"

Klink shook his head. "I don't know. That decision is out of my hands. Somewhere east I think. Wherever there's room."

"No camp has room," Hogan said.

"I know. I'm sorry."

Hogan nodded. "So am I."

Klink glanced back at the fire. "You and your men, stay with Schultz."

"We're not leaving with the others." A statement, not a question.

"No."

"London?"

Klink hesitated. "I don't know." A sober look. "One of the things we will have to discuss. But first," he added as a soldier appeared, "we still have work to do."

Hogan nodded and left.

Klink headed over to the building where Baines was still checking.

Klink entered the dark building. The charges here were crucial. This building had to be destroyed totally or there was a good chance the fire would jump the firebreak and continue onward. The charges on the first floor looked fine. Now down to the sublevel.

It was dark, the flashlight in his hand barely adding any light. It was also dismal — dust, dirt, broken boxes, bits of concrete.

The first charge should be here. His light found it.

Klink froze. The charge had been tampered with, the wire leading to the detonator severed.

Fury clouded Klink's mind for an instant, replaced by an icy calm as he set to work, fixing the damage.

He found another one, also sabotaged. He knelt, and began to fix it.

Klink was on the third charge. Engrossed in his task, he failed to hear the faint step behind him. Something gleamed in the faint light, something that struck at his back.

Klink felt the savage thrust rip into his back, the horrible pain darkening his vision, and he collapsed forward onto the charge.

Clumsily, the knife slashed again in the darkness as he fell.

Then the silent figure retreated, leaving behind Klink's fallen body, a stain dampening the left side of his uniform jacket.

...

Hogan met Witton in one of the buildings. Witton, to Hogan's surprise, was also rechecking the connections on the charges. Hogan challenged him on it.

"If I do a thing, I want it done right," Witton said belligerently.

"Maybe," Hogan said pointedly. "But a few hours ago, you would have been happy if the whole thing failed."

"All right," Witton admitted. "But that was yesterday. Before I saw the women and kids and old people. They didn't care if I was an American or whether the fire was my fault. I never really thought of them as people before. Just targets. Or puppets." A deep breath. "I guess it's not their fault that Richey died."

"Or your father?" Hogan ventured.

A lopsided grin. "Or my father."

"Well, I'm glad you came to your senses," Hogan said. "You wouldn't have helped our operation by being a hothead."

"No, I guess not. But, Colonel," Witton touched his arm, "I'd better warn you about Baines."

Hogan stood still, a chill going through him. "What about Baines?"

"Colonel, I'm a hothead," Witton said. "He's not. He's as cold-blooded as they come. He hates Germans even more than I did. And," a deep breath, "I think he may have slipped over the edge. He lost his family in a recent air raid. I was gonna ground him after this mission."

"Then why did you drag him along with you?" Hogan demanded.

"To keep an eye on him. I'm not sure I can trust him alone. But I've lost him. Do you know where he is?"

"I left him in one of the buildings," Hogan said tonelessly. "Klink was going to check on him."

"Colonel," Witton began in alarm.

"Come on!"

...

Lying on the dirty floor, his right hand beside his head, his left arm at his side, Klink's eyes opened. He blinked in the near total darkness. His head lifted. He started to push himself off the floor and almost cried out as his left arm gave way beneath him. Pain shot across his left shoulder and down his back and arm.

Gasping, he lay still, trying to catch his breath. After a moment, gritting his teeth against the pain, he tried again.

Clumsily, favoring his left side, Klink rose to his knees. His shirt stuck to his back as he moved, he could feel wetness on the left side. His right hand lifted to his left shoulder. The dirty fingers came away stained with blood. Someone had tried to kill him. Under better conditions, they might have succeeded. But for now, he couldn't worry about it. He had to finish the job he'd started. Ignoring the pain and the blood that flowed whenever he moved, Klink began reattaching the wires.

...

Klink had found the remaining charges on the lower level and fixed them. He blinked the sweat away from his eyes. It was getting hot. The fire couldn't be that far away now. Precious time had been lost. Time the town desperately needed.

He staggered to his feet. The wounds had congealed at least; he was in no immediate danger of bleeding to death. But he hurt.

_Getting soft, Klink? You're used to working with pain. _

But he was also far too tired and hot. And it was a little difficult to breathe. Did the knife puncture a lung?

Klink found the stairs and dragged his aching body up to the next level. It was a little cooler and more open up there.

He wiped his wet brow with his sleeve, smearing more dirt on his face. He had to check the charges up here again. Whoever had attacked him may have sabotaged them as well.

Wearily, he found the first charge. And wearily, he knelt to fix it. A moment later, Klink heard a noise in the darkness.

He stopped, listening.

There it was again. Not that far away.

Alert now, Klink stood and looked around. There were shadows everywhere as light from the approaching fire dispelled some of the darkness. But he could see nothing. Nor did he have anything to use as a weapon. But he had to get his attacker out in the open, before he struck again.

"All right," Klink called out. "Where are you?"

Silence.

"Have you come back to finish what you started? As you can see, I am not that easy to kill."

A faint noise to the left.

Klink turned toward it. "Afraid?" he taunted. "Of course you are. Only cowards stab their victims in the back."

There was a noise, almost like a snarl to his right. Then a crash to his left. Instinctively, he started to turn but he never completed it. A figure jumped him, a knife raised high in its hand. Klink caught his attacker's wrist with his right hand as they fell to the ground. Klink landed heavily on his left shoulder, a cry escaping his lips. For an instant, the darkness became absolute, but he held on to consciousness.

Klink's grip tightened on the wrist of the man above him. He forced his left hand up, fighting the pain as he did so. Sweat slid down his face as he fought to keep the knife away from his body. But he had no idea how long he could do so. He was far too tired and the pain from his wounds was more than just troublesome; he could feel consciousness slipping away.

Unexpectedly, the weight lifted from him. Klink's hands dropped uselessly and he lay there gasping for breath.

"Kommandant!" a voice was saying urgently.

Klink lifted a shaking hand to his face to wipe the sweat out of his eyes. His eyes focused blearily on Witton's face as the American knelt beside him.

"Kommandant?" Witton repeated.

A deep breath to still his adrenaline-shaking body. "Help me sit up, please," Klink said in a low voice.

Witton moved to help him. Klink swallowed a cry as Witton grasped his left shoulder firmly.

Startled, Witton removed his hand from Klink's back. Blood stained his fingers. "You're hurt!" Witton gasped.

Klink ignored him. Leaning on Witton, Klink stood awkwardly, swaying a bit as he did so. "Who is it?" he asked in a shaky voice.

Hogan dragged a stirring Baines to his feet.

"But why?" Klink wanted to know.

"You killed them! You and all those other bastards! Killed my babies, you f . . . !"

The obscenities continued, alternating with his sobs.

Klink sighed; another victim of the war he hated. He looked at Baines pityingly.

"What do we do with him?" Witton asked, shaken by what happened.

"Take him back to camp," Hogan said, not without pity.

"And do what with him?" Klink asked wearily. "Lock him up?"

"Well, what else can we do?" Witton asked in frustration. Then, "You're not going to shoot him, are you?" He was aghast.

"No," Klink said slowly. "But perhaps it would be better if he were a casualty of the fire." He looked at Hogan.

A slow smile on the American's face. "It would wreck your perfect record."

"Hardly," Klink retorted. "He would be listed as missing, presumed dead, like the rest of the victims of the fire."

Witton was horrified. "You're not going to leave him here!"

Klink sighed. "No, we are not. Colonel Hogan will explain." Klink turned back to the charge.

Now, Hogan noticed the slashes and the blood on Klink's stained jacket. "Wilhelm!" The name slipped out.

Witton's startled eyes swung to Hogan's face and back to Klink.

"Robert."

Witton started. What kind of a prison camp was this when the Kommandant and senior prisoner were on a first name basis?

"Robert," Klink repeated. "I will finish resetting the charges. They will go off in exactly," he checked his watch, "fifteen minutes."

"Leave them," Hogan said tersely.

Klink shook his aching head. "They are too important." God, he was tired, and he hurt so. But . . . "Without these, the fire cannot be stopped. It is already too close."

"But you're hurt," Hogan protested. "Let me — "

Klink interrupted him, his toneless voice hiding his pain and fatigue. "You need to deal with Baines. Both of you."

"But — "

Klink turned back to him, wincing as he did so. "Go. Now," Klink said far more calmly than he felt. "That was a direct order, Colonel." He managed a small smile. "From both of our armies."

"You would pull rank," Hogan grumbled. "You'd better get out. I'm not breaking in a new kommandant this late in the war." The expression in his eyes belied the flippancy.

Their eyes held for a moment before Klink turned away. "I intend to." Then, "Go. I have work to do."

Hogan stared at Klink's bloodied back for a moment, his throat tight with emotion. Then he turned to Baines, pulling him to his feet. "Come on." His voice was rougher than he intended.

Hogan and Witton dragged the whimpering Baines away. They left the building using a side entrance away from the view of any observers. Hogan explained what they were going to do as they walked unseen toward the woods.

Minutes later, Hogan and Witton joined the observers watching the buildings.

"Where is Kommandant Klink?" the Bürgermeister asked.

"Still checking the connections," Hogan said tensely. "Some appear to have slipped."

"But," objected Gruber, "there are only a few minutes left."

"Two minutes," a voice said tonelessly.

_Oh, God_, Hogan found himself praying, _after all this, Klink had to make it. _

"One minute." Again that emotionless voice.

Then all too soon. "Thirty seconds."

"There!" LeBeau shouted.

Klink was running toward them, his figure silhouetted by the fire behind him.

The voice began a countdown. "Ten . . . nine . . .eight . . . "

All too quickly, it reached one. The charges blew.

The buildings lurched and then, as if in slow motion, began to crumble. As Hogan and the others watched, Klink was caught in the shock wave that followed. He was picked up and tossed like a rag doll. After a few horrifyingly interminable moments, his body dropped, crumpling to the ground.

"Look!" a voice cried.

As the dust finally settled, they could see the remains of the buildings blocking the fire. And, as they had not dared to hope, the force of the explosions appeared to smother the hottest flames.

There was a wild cry from the firefighters and they surged forward with renewed hope to battle the remaining blaze.

Hogan ran, oblivious of the others. He reached Klink's limp body first. He turned Klink over. "Wilhelm?" he said in a soft voice. Then louder, "Kommandant?"

Doctor Ernst Bauer arrived just behind Hogan and felt for a pulse. "He is alive. Bring a stretcher!" he ordered, his gentle hands feeling for possible fractures. Startled, his fingers pulled away. The doctor stared at the blood on his hand and then at Hogan.

"Doctor," Hogan said softly, "I think he would appreciate it if you didn't say anything to anyone about that."

"But how?" The doctor was shaken.

"Later," Hogan promised. "But for now, please."

The doctor nodded, "All right, Colonel. For him, I promise."

Hogan smiled faintly, an unexpected lump in his throat.

The stretcher-bearers arrived. Hogan helped them place Klink gently on it. Then, slowly, carrying their pale burden, they walked to the waiting ambulance.

Hogan stood, his eyes straying to the fire. It did seem to be dying. Finally.

Absurd tears stung his eyes. After all these years of fighting, was Klink ultimately to be destroyed by a fire?

_Oh, God_, he prayed, _not now. Not when the end was so close. Klink had to survive to see it. He had to._

* * *

1 "Klink vs. the Gonculator


	5. Chapter 5

Act Three

Scene One

– Five –

Morning. Hogan walked toward the mansion through the heavy snowfall; it had started snowing an hour ago. Hogan rubbed his eyes and yawned. He had spent the past few hours fighting the remaining blaze. But they had won. Most of the fire had been eradicated; the snow would help put out the rest of it.

Snow. It was welcome now. But later on, it would be a different kind of tragedy for those without homes. At least those townspeople who had decided to stay had been able to save many of their possessions. Hammelburg would rebuild again. It was finding a strength and a unity that had been nearly erased by the war. People who had once argued and actively fought each other were extending hands of help. It was nice to see.

Hogan entered the abandoned mansion that had been converted into a small hospital. The Hammelburg hospital and all the medical clinics had been destroyed. The most seriously injured had been removed to hospitals in other towns. The remaining victims were ambulatory and could be treated in their homes or with others.

Hogan smiled at a couple of men from the camp. He went over to check on them. "How's it going, fellas?"

"Fine, sir," Corporal Gordon McMartin answered. "Just a broken wing." He held up his cast-encased right arm. "Be right as rain soon enough."

"Good," Hogan said. He turned to the other man. "What about you, Spencer?"

Private Jimmy Spencer held up his bandaged left hand. "Coming along nicely, Colonel. Just a slight burn."

"Uh, Colonel," McMartin asked cautiously, "how's the Kommandant?"

More changes. A few days ago, McMartin wouldn't have asked, or cared.

"That's what I'm here to find out."

"He sure was something out there," Spencer said. "You know I always thought of him as a bloody fool. He was anything but last night."

"Yeah," McMartin said. "Guess you can't always tell how a bloke will react under pressure."

"Guess not," Hogan agreed. "I'll see you boys back at camp."

"Right, sir."

"Never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad to be going back," Spencer said.

Hogan returned their grins and left. He nearly bumped into Witton.

"What are you doing here?" Hogan demanded.

A grin. "Same thing you are."

"He might refuse to see you," Hogan said.

"Then again he might not."

"All right. Don't say I didn't warn you."

...

Schultz watched as Doctor Bauer changed the bandage on Klink's back. The Kommandant had regained consciousness not too long ago and looked tired. But Schultz wasn't worried. Klink was not going anywhere for some time. Not if Doctor Bauer had anything to say about it. And, Schultz knew, Doctor Bauer would say plenty.

A knock on the door.

Both Doctor Bauer and Klink turned to look at the door. Schultz turned as well and opened the door a crack. Colonel Hogan and Captain Witton stood there.

"Can we come in, Schultz?" Hogan asked.

Schultz glanced back at the doctor. Bauer nodded. Then Schultz glanced at Klink. Annoyed at being consulted second, Klink also nodded.

Schultz, with a grin, opened the door to let the two Americans in.

Hogan smiled as he saw Klink. Shirtless, with a bandage covering the back of his left shoulder and winding around his torso, Klink was being eased back onto the bed by the Doctor. Klink winced as he was laid on his wounds.

The Doctor was brisk. "I give you five minutes only, gentlemen. Then the Kommandant will have a nice long rest." He cut off Klink's attempted protest. "Herr Kommandant, five hours of unconsciousness, with a concussion, do not make up for nearly forty-eight hours without sleep. You are staying here until I am convinced you are rested enough and well enough to leave."

Klink gave up. "Jawohl, Herr Doktor."

With a smile at the Americans, Bauer left the room.

"How's the fire?" Klink asked.

Hogan grinned. "Don't you know?"

"Nobody tells me anything around here," Klink grumbled. "Including him!" He glared at Schultz. And was ignored.

"The fire's nearly out." Hogan sat beside the bed. "And it's snowing."

"That I could see for myself," Klink retorted. His head lay back on the pillow, his eyes on the ceiling. "And our missing prisoner?" he asked in a low voice.

"On his way to France along with the others."

Klink nodded and his eyes closed. "I haven't thanked you for saving my life."

Hogan smiled. "This makes us about even."

A small smile played on Klink's lips. "Actually, it doesn't," he said to Hogan's surprise. "But who's counting?"

"What do you mean, it doesn't," Hogan began and stopped as a spasm crossed Klink's face. "I'll argue with you later, when you're feeling better." Hogan's voice dropped to a quieter tone. "What about Bauer? Is he saying anything?"

A faint smile. "Dieter would like him. He's very good and has decided that the less he knows the better. He is also very discreet. The stabbing will not be in his report to Burkhalter." The blue eyes opened to look at Witton. "And how discreet are you, Captain?" Klink asked bluntly. "And have you stopped hating me yet?"

"How did you . . . ?" Witton began shakily and stopped as Klink's eyes appraised him. Witton swallowed nervously. "Yes, sir, I guess I have. And before any of this happened."

A tiny smile from Klink.

"And I can be as discreet as necessary."

"Good. I also hope you can follow orders as well." Klink's eyes closed again. "Because Colonel Hogan will not tell you anything more than you already know." Then the eyes snapped open and swung to Hogan. "I assume you didn't have time to say much?"

"No, sir, not really."

"Good. Keep it that way." Klink's eyes closed. "And to forestall any questions, the reason is mainly for my protection. And yours. The less you know, the better it will be."

"Yes, sir," Witton said.

Klink's eyes opened and met Witton's unswerving gaze. A slow smile. "I think I like you, Captain. Perhaps we can talk later."

"I would like that, sir," Witton said quietly.

Klink nodded wearily, his eyes closing.

The door opened Doctor Bauer reentered the room. "Time, gentlemen," he said firmly. "The Kommandant needs to rest."

Hogan nodded and stood. "We'll see you later, Kommandant. If you don't mind." A glance at Bauer. "And if Doctor Bauer has no objections."

"Not until tonight," Bauer countered. "Kommandant Klink will be having a nice long sleep. Good day, gentlemen." He held the door open for them.

With smiles and soft goodbyes, the two Americans left the room.

By mutual if silent consent, the two Americans waited in the hallway. After a few minutes, Doctor Bauer emerged from the bedroom.

"Still here, gentlemen?" he asked, not appearing surprised to see them.

"How is he, Doctor? Really?" Hogan asked quietly.

"Doing better than I would have expected," Bauer admitted. "He is in excellent physical condition." That seemed to surprise him. "Odd, I always assumed he wouldn't be."

"So did I," murmured Hogan.

"He came out of the concussion well, though he will have a very bad headache for some time," Bauer continued. "The knife," he looked curiously at the Americans, "did no serious damage either. In a few days, he should be up and around."

"You may find you have to release him earlier," Hogan said.

"Absolutely not!" protested Bauer.

"Doctor Bauer," Hogan said softly, "you're supposed to be treating him for a concussion and fatigue. Not a stab wound. I don't think you can hold him for more than a couple of days."

"I will arrange a relapse," Bauer retorted.

Hogan shook his head. "Then General Burkhalter will probably want to take him to a military hospital. Or have him examined by a Luftwaffe doctor. He can't afford either one," Hogan reminded.

"I see." The doctor was not too pleased.

"Let him determine when to leave," Hogan suggested. "As long as it's a reasonable amount of time for a man with a concussion," he added to cut off the doctor's protest. "I think you'll find he knows his limits."

"Yes," Bauer murmured. Then a deep sigh. "He has some interesting scars."

"Which don't exist either," Hogan said.

"All right, Colonel," Bauer agreed. "I suppose I do not have much choice."

"No, Doctor," Hogan said. "You don't. Not if you really care whether he lives or dies."

Bauer looked startled. "I . . . " His voice was subdued. "I think I understand, Colonel Hogan." He looked at Hogan. "And yes, I do care if he lives or dies."

"Good," Hogan said. Then he added almost pessimistically, "I hope the rest of the town does as well."

A smile. "Colonel Hogan, I assure you that right now Kommandant Wilhelm Klink is the most popular man in town." His smile grew. "And that comes from a man who had little use for him in the past." He shook his head. "How could I, we, have been so wrong!"

"Doctor," Hogan smiled, "if it's any consolation, you weren't the only one."

"Colonel, I had already gathered that. Now," his tone became businesslike, "I have other patients to see. And," a quick glance out the window, "I see your ride back to the camp is here. Until later, gentlemen."

The doctor started down the hallway, then stopped and turned back to the Americans. "Colonel Hogan!"

Hogan turned to him.

"I wish to thank you as well. Without the help of your men, the town would have been destroyed. Thank you all."

Hogan smiled. "You're very welcome. But our help wasn't completely altruistic."

"Whatever the reason, thank you."

Hogan nodded and, trailed by Witton, started down the stairs.

Doctor Bauer stared after them for a minute and then at the door to Klink's room. What was going on at that prison camp? Come to think of it, did he really want to know?

He headed down the hallway to the other bedrooms.


	6. Chapter 6

Act Three

Scene One

– Six –

The next few days were quiet. Kommandant Wilhelm Klink stayed in the impromptu hospital. Hogan went to see him a couple of times, finding him more rested with each visit. Hauptmann Fritz Gruber remained in charge of Stalag 13 until the Kommandant's return.

A report, Hogan knew, had gone to Berlin from the Bürgermeister and the Town Council regarding the actions of Stalag 13 personnel during the fire. Hogan had no idea what was in it, but from the hints dropped by Bauer during his last visit, it should have been fairly straightforward and rather matter-of-fact. Hopefully, it downplayed Klink's actions during the crisis. In a way it was funny. The old Klink continually tried to get a promotion; the new Klink shied away from bringing attention to himself. His actions during the fire could have earned him that promotion. But it would also jeopardize his cover.

Over the objections of the doctor, Klink returned to the camp on the second evening following the fire. He promised to take it easy, arguing that he preferred not taking up much needed bed space.

And he did take it easy. Klink barely nodded at Hogan when he arrived. Besides Sergeant Schultz, his only visitor was Captain Gruber who brought him up to date on what had been happening at the camp.

Captain Gruber. Hogan watched from his room as Gruber entered Klink's quarters. Something was bothering the man. But Hogan had no idea what. Maybe Klink could find out.

He closed the shutters; it was nearly time for lights out.

General Albert Burkhalter, Klink's obese superior, arrived the next morning. Hogan, who had wondered when Burkhalter would show up, watched from the door of his barracks.

"Who's the brass?" Witton asked as he walked over.

"General Burkhalter, Klink's commanding officer," Hogan replied. He straightened up. "Let's listen in."

By the time Hogan and his men had set up their listening device, the amenities in Klink's office had been dispensed with.

"I've been reading the reports on the fire, Klink," General Burkhalter was saying in his rather distinctive voice. "Most interesting."

"Yes, sir," Klink said. "Have you been to town yet?"

"No," Burkhalter said. "I wanted to see you first."

Witton was puzzled as he listened. "Klink sounds different."

Hogan grinned. "No, that's the way he normally talked."

"Huh?"

"Don't ask, Captain."

A sigh. "Yes, sir."

"You appear to have done well, Klink," came Burkhalter's dry voice.

"Thank you, sir," Klink said in a puffed up voice.

"So did the prisoners."

"Yes, sir, they did." Klink was almost gloating.

"I would like to say thank you to Hogan and his men." The chair creaked as Burkhalter stood.

"Of course, sir. I'll have Sergeant Schultz get him."

"No. I think I'll go see him myself."

"As you wish, Herr General."

"Oops. Time to shut down," Hogan said.

The coffee pot was hurriedly put away and the men adjourned to the common room. Hogan's men set up a card game while Witton poured Hogan a cup of coffee and then one for himself.

Burkhalter, followed by an inanely smiling Klink, entered the barracks.

"Achtung!" Schultz called from the door.

There was a halfhearted attempt to stand at attention from the prisoners in the room.

Hogan saluted, a little more professionally than his men. "Good morning, General," Hogan said cheerfully. "What brings you here?"

"I heard about the fire," Burkhalter said.

"Quite a mess," Hogan said, less cheer in his voice.

"So I hear. The Kommandant and I will be going to town shortly to see for ourselves." The general's eyes swept the room. "I also hear that you and your men were quite helpful, Colonel Hogan."

"We tried, General." Hogan glanced at Klink for a moment. "Just doing what we were told."

"I doubt that very much, Colonel." There was open disbelief in Burkhalter's voice. "I rather suspect it was the other way around."

Hogan grinned. So that's the way Burkhalter interpreted the report. That Klink was just getting credit for whatever Hogan came up with. "Well, you're the general, sir. I'm sure you know best."

Klink managed to look completely confused throughout the exchange.

"I do," Burkhalter said in a very dry voice. "Be that as it may, Stalag 13 came out of this looking remarkably well. No escapes, few injuries, though I understand there was one death?"

"Yes, sir." Klink looked appropriately sad. "One of the prisoners got too close to the explosives. A great tragedy."

"Yes. Unfortunate," Burkhalter echoed. "But the town's report to Berlin was very commendatory, Colonel Hogan. They had high praise for everyone from this camp."

"I'm sure the Kommandant deserves all the credit," Hogan said truthfully.

As he expected, he was not believed. "I am sure," Burkhalter's voice was mocking, "the Kommandant did as well as any of us would expect. However, you have my thanks." Burkhalter was in an almost jovial mood.

Hogan smiled. "You're welcome, General."

"Come, Klink." As he turned, Burkhalter's hand came down on the left shoulder of the man standing slightly behind him.

Hogan's men froze; Hogan had told them what had happened. A shocked Witton dropped his cup to the floor, attracting Burkhalter's attention. Witton hurriedly bent to clean up the mess, his hands shaking.

Hogan's eyes stayed on Klink. He knew that the knife wounds were barely healed and still painful. As usual, Klink was functioning without the benefit of painkillers.

Klink's face was immobile; the spasm that had crossed his face was gone. His eyes had closed to hide the sudden pain and they opened slowly.

"Come, Klink," Burkhalter was saying.

Klink managed a wan smile. "Of course, Herr General." His voice was perfectly normal.

Klink was just a touch slow as he turned around. By then, Burkhalter had gone out of the barracks. His body tightly erect, Kommandant Klink left the barracks, trailed by a worried-looking Sergeant Schultz.

Witton stood up, ashen-faced. "I'm sorry, Colonel," he began shakily.

"Don't be," Hogan said quietly. "You gave him the time he needed."

"But the pain!" Witton whispered.

The coffee tasted bitter in Hogan's mouth. He put the cup down. "It's not the first time." His voice was low, grim. "Unfortunately, I don't think it will be the last."

Much later in the day, General Burkhalter and Klink returned to the camp. Burkhalter, to Hogan's surprise, decided not to stay for dinner. The general's car and its escort left almost immediately.

Hogan sauntered over to Klink's quarters.

A glum Schultz opened the door. "Come in, Colonel Hogan. Please."

"How is he, Schultz?" Hogan asked in a low voice.

A shrug from the large sergeant.

Klink emerged from his bedroom, carrying his shirt, a bandage on the back of his left shoulder.

Schultz hurried over to Klink and took the shirt, holding it for the Kommandant. Klink slipped his arms into the sleeves; Schultz settled the shirt on his back.

"Why don't you get ready for bed?" Hogan asked.

"At this hour of the day? Don't be ridiculous!"

Hogan smiled faintly. "How does it feel?"

An indifferent shrug. Then a wince.

"That's what I thought," Hogan said dryly.

Klink sighed, buttoning his shirt. "It felt much better before Burkhalter decided to get friendly."

Hogan smiled. "How did Burkhalter like the tour?"

Klink waved Schultz away as he brought over the uniform jacket. "He was more bothered than he let on. Now that the snow has stopped, the damage is even more apparent."

"And what did the Town Council say?" Hogan asked quietly.

Klink sat at the dining table. "What they said in the report. No less and, more important, no more."

"So they're keeping their mouths shut," Hogan observed.

Klink nodded. "Fortunately Burkhalter was more interested in getting back to Berlin than in asking a lot of questions."

"Good."

Klink smiled. "Agreed." Then his eyes twinkled. "Are you up to losing another game?"

"Losing? I won the last one."

"By getting me to talk," Klink countered. "I warn you, I'm not feeling very talkative tonight."

Hogan grinned and walked over to the table. "I'll risk it anyway."

With a faint smile, Schultz brought over the chess set. And glanced at Hogan warningly.

"Don't worry, Schultz," Hogan said in a low voice. "I'm not staying late."

"You can stop whispering," Klink said with annoyance. "I am not a child."

Schultz walked over to the door, enjoying the friendly argument going on behind him. Back to normal again.

No, he corrected. Back to the new normal, the way it had been since that SS colonel left. He didn't know what, but something had happened between the two men after that visit. Something that deepened the bond between them. Something that, he had come to realize, was spelling the demise of the old Kommandant. And Schultz was glad, so very glad. Finally, Wilhelm Klink was beginning to emerge from his shell.

Then a frown. Now, if only no one would notice . . .


	7. Chapter 7

Act Three

Scene One

– Seven –

"Colonel." Newkirk nodded toward Klink's office. "What's Gruber up to?"

Hogan looked over to where the German captain stood indecisively.

"He looks a bit shaky," Kinch observed.

"Why," Baker asked softly, "is he wearing a gun?"

Hogan straightened up. "He is, isn't he?"

Gruber seemed to have finally made up his mind. He started up the stairs.

"Let's listen in," Hogan said.

...

Hauptmann Fritz Gruber looked around the outer office nervously. Fräulein Hilda was not at her desk; she had gone into town to deliver some supplies. Good. He really did not want anyone around right now. Gruber knocked on the inner door.

"Come in!" a voice called from inside the office.

Gruber opened the door. Kommandant Wilhelm Klink sat at his desk, doing some reports.

Klink glanced at Gruber as he walked in. "Come in, Hauptmann," Klink said. "I was about to call you." Klink sifted through the piles of paper in front of him. "Berlin has come up with a new report. I'd like you to . . . " He looked at Gruber.

His next words sent a chill through Hogan and his listening men. "Hauptmann," Klink asked calmly, "may I ask why you are pointing that gun at me?"

Gruber looked uneasy.

Klink sighed and started to push away from the desk.

"Please!" Gruber was almost pleading. "Do not move!"

"All right, Hauptmann." Klink settled more comfortably in his chair. A smile, pleasant enough but with a hint of something else in it. "May I ask what is wrong?"

"You are!" The words tumbled out. "You're not the same. You're not the Kommandant!"

A puzzled smile. "I assure you I am."

Gruber looked confused.

"What makes you think I'm not?"

"You're different!" Gruber blurted out. "You're more efficient, more professional. Less of a . . . " He stopped, embarrassed.

"Less of a fool?" Klink finished softly.

Miserable, Gruber nodded.

"So you think there's something wrong with me because I act more like you think a soldier should act?" The irony was tinged with sarcasm.

"It is like . . . The night of the fire . . . " Gruber's voice was almost wondering. "You took charge. General Burkhalter thinks it was Colonel Hogan and the others who were in charge. But he is wrong. Everyone listened to you. You organized everything. You even knew how to set the explosives. It was you!"

"And why are you so surprised, Hauptmann?" Klink asked slyly. "After all, I am a colonel in the Luftwaffe. I did nothing that any officer in the finest fighting force in the world would not have done." The irony in his voice could not be mistaken.

It was lost on Gruber. "But you have never acted like that before. I mean, not so well. Or perhaps, before, you were playing a part . . . " His voice trailed off at the look in Klink's eye.

"Perhaps I was tired of playing the part, Hauptmann," Klink said softly.

...

"What do we do, Colonel?" Carter asked.

Hogan's voice was tight. "We stay put. Let him handle it."

"But Gruber's got a gun on him!" protested Baker.

"Yeah! And if we rush in, he just might pull the trigger and get Klink killed."

"He might get killed anyway," Newkirk said glumly.

"It's a chance we have to take," Hogan said, none too happy about it.

...

"Or, perhaps," Klink continued, "that night, I discovered qualities in myself I never knew I had."

Gruber looked shaken.

"Sometimes it takes a disaster to show what we're really made of."

"I . . . I suppose that is possible," Gruber said more to himself than Klink.

"Of course it is, Hauptmann," Klink said heartily. "Now please, put that gun away. And we'll forget this ever happened."

The gun wavered in Gruber's hand. "I . . . I do not know what to do." He thought for a minute. Then his voice grew stronger as he came to a decision. "I will call General — "

"No." Klink's voice was soft.

Startled, Gruber looked at him. He found himself shaking at the look in Klink's eyes.

"No," Klink repeated. "That is not an option."

"But — "

"You have two choices, Hauptmann Gruber," Klink said in a deceptively soft voice. "One, put the gun away and give me your word that you will never mention this to anyone. Or two — "

Gruber looked at him, fear in his eyes.

"You pull that trigger. And I warn you, Hauptmann, you had better not miss. Because you will not get a second chance."

Klink stood slowly. The gun followed him as he rose.

"You had also better be prepared to pay the consequences. If you kill me, there is an excellent chance that you will not leave this camp alive. And you will also be branded a madman, or worse, for killing your commanding officer."

"But . . . But . . . " Gruber stammered. "I will explain — "

"To whom?" Gruber found himself shivering when Klink smiled. "Who can you really trust, Hauptmann? If you think I can't be trusted?"

"I . . . "

The gun in Gruber's hand shook and he looked stricken. This was not going as he had expected. The gun should have given him the upper hand. Instead, it had not. Klink seemed unafraid of it. That in itself was wrong.

But what if Klink was right? Other men found courage in times of crisis. Perhaps the Kommandant had never really been tested. Perhaps he never knew what he was capable of.

The gun lowered fractionally.

Perhaps . . .

Perhaps Klink was not what he seemed. Perhaps he was playing a game. If so, then he was a traitor. And it was Gruber's duty to kill him.

No. Gruber couldn't do it. He couldn't kill anyone in cold blood. In fact, he had only killed once in combat. He had also been wounded by a grenade. Sent home, he had contrived to pull every string in the book to keep from being sent back into combat.

Perhaps that's what Klink had done as well. Realized he was no soldier, and this was his way of avoiding battle.

But if Klink was playing a role, perhaps it was for a sinister purpose. Perhaps even treasonable.

Gruber couldn't decide.

He didn't want to. He wanted to call Burkhalter. Burkhalter would get the truth. Burkhalter . . .

Or the Gestapo.

Gruber went white. He hadn't thought of that. Things were insane in Berlin. Everyone knew that. The war was going too badly. The Allies were already inside German borders. Many of those in charge were too busy pointing fingers at others. Anyone suspected of any hint of treason was turned over to the Gestapo. And they . . .

Gruber stared at Klink.

He couldn't. Even if Klink were his worst enemy, he couldn't turn Klink over to the Gestapo. And he knew he couldn't kill him. The gun dropped to Gruber's side.

Klink straightened up with an inward sigh of relief. He hadn't been all that sure what Gruber would decide. "Your word, Hauptmann," he said quietly, "that you will say nothing about this to anyone."

Gruber nodded unhappily. "You have my word, Kommandant."

"Good." Klink sat down with a faint smile. "As I said, Hauptmann, there's a new report that Berlin wants. Now, where did I . . . ? Oh, here it is." Klink's voice was back to normal, as if nothing had happened. He picked up the paper and handed it to a numb Gruber. "I'd like you to take care of it."

Gruber took the paper unthinkingly.

"Dismissed, Hauptmann." Klink saluted.

Gruber's hand, still holding the gun, rose partway to return the salute. Then he seemed to notice the pistol. With embarrassment, he returned the gun to its holster. Holding the new report, Gruber backed toward the door and reaching it, opened it hurriedly. The door slammed behind him.

Klink's expression became somber. He leaned back in his chair and waited.

Moments later, Hogan came in.

"You heard?" Klink asked.

Hogan nodded. "Now what?"

Klink sat straighter. "He's confused. He wants to trust me. But he's not sure. He also doesn't want to deal with the consequences of his thoughts."

"We could get rid of him."

Klink shook his head. "No. He will keep his word; he won't say anything."

"And if he doesn't?" Hogan asked quietly.

A very faint smile. "Then I will have misjudged someone for the last time in my life." His tone changed. "Now, get out of here, Colonel Hogan. I have work to do."

An inward sigh. "Yes, sir."

Hogan saluted and left.


End file.
